Mace wasn't innovative because of its active ingredient, which had already been synthesized in laboratories and discussed for its military applications. All these chemicals-pepper spray and the handful of "non-lethal" tear gases-produce the same basic effect: they attach to sensory receptors on our nerve endings and produce the sensation of burning pain. These take effect more slowly than pepper sprays and cause particular pain in the mucous membranes of the eyes and mouth. The remaining chemicals, including the active ingredient in Chemical Mace, fall into the category of tear gases. Pepper sprays all harness a single chemical, capsaicin, which is the active ingredient of chili peppers and immediately produces an intense burning sensation all across the face. Just a handful of chemicals are considered incapacitating but non-lethal, but they're harnessed in weapons from grenades to sprays to artillery shells. "Chemical Mace" joined a growing list of technologies designed to disarm without killing. Alan sent off patent applications for a spray can, nozzle, and their chemical mixture. At first they called it TGASI, for "Tear Gas Aerosol Spray Instrument," but soon they came up with the catchier name of "Chemical Mace." According to newspaper reports, the name implied that chemicals could produce the same incapacitating effect as a medieval mace-a chilling design of spiked club-but without causing the same brutal injuries. military had highlighted as a potent tear gas during World War II. After trying a dizzying array of chemicals that seared the eyes and face, they settled on chloroacetophenone, a chemical the U.S. They mixed chemicals like kerosene, Freon, and sulfuric acid to dissolve and propel harsh irritants. They toyed with aerosol spray cans, figuring out how to better direct liquids. So the Litmans started running experiments in their home. Pocket-sized pepper sprays existed, but they often unintentionally afflicted the sprayer, or took so long to sink in that they simply failed to deter attackers. According to several newspaper accounts, when she brought the story home to Alan, the pair started discussing the tools a woman might use in self-defense. It all started when one of Doris Litman's colleagues, a young female teacher, was mugged on the streets of Pittsburgh. How in the world did Alan Litman go from a builder of bacon cookers to the designer of anti-personnel grenades? Litman had gone from designing home goods to designing devices for "pocket-sized personal protection." Eventually he'd even patent an "Anti-personnel grenade." He submitted a 1964 application for an " Assailant Incapacitator" and another for an " Aerosol Safety Device," the two of which combined into a little bottle for spraying harsh chemicals. One year later, however, his focus underwent an unexpected shift. In 1961, he submitted a patent application for an " Infrared nursing bottle heater," a device that warmed milk for infants, and in 1963 he sketched a " waterless egg cooker" and a " bacon cooker." All three inventions seem to have slipped into the netherworld of products that never saw profits. Litman's early creations sound like they came off a shelf at Sears. This explained why, to the bewilderment of visitors, he and Doris kept an alligator in the basement. Journalist Garry Wills portrayed Litman as an enthusiastic and idiosyncratic graduate of the University of Pittsburgh, where among other things he'd done experiments on animal intelligence. Doris was a science teacher and Alan, 29 years old, was an inventor, which presumably meant he was waiting for a big break from one of his many pending patents. Half a century ago, Alan and Doris Litman lived in Pittsburgh. to Ferguson, it became a ubiquitous and potent symbol of both justice and injustice. Strangely enough, it began as the household invention of a young Pittsburgh couple who kept an alligator in the basement. Mace was only four years old at this point, and hadn't even reached the consumer market yet-but in its short lifespan, it had already been transformed from a tool of private protection to a front-line weapon of riot control. He was tearing up because he had just been shot by mace-which, he argued, "is a very humane weapon." The television cameras were broadcasting his attempt to try and prove his point. As an unyielding ex-Marine who hadn't hesitated using force against protestors in Chicago and its suburbs, Woods wasn't really the crying type. In May 1968, in front of photographers and television cameras, Sheriff Joseph Woods wiped a tear from his eye.
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